


But It Will

by bestvest



Category: Black Panther (2018), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), honestly I cannot fix this, hurts no comfort, if the russos don'f fix this I swear to god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestvest/pseuds/bestvest
Summary: He pretended that it did not ache. Maybe it was true. Maybe for now he can pretend that it will not make him ache whatsoever.But it will. By God, it will.





	But It Will

**Author's Note:**

> The terms of event after IW when Everett and T'Challa are soulmates.  
> There’s no reason for Everett to live in LA except that I want him to wake up at the middle of the night when everything happens.  
> NOT a native English speaker. Written in English because IW will not land in China until 5.11. Welcome to pick mistakes! Be kind to me!!
> 
> 中文版： 【豹玫瑰】痛觉残留

Everett woke up to a terrible clenching at his heart. He sat there, on his bed, in his apartment in Los Angeles, and forced himself to breath. He listened to the distant noise outside his window, pained and irritated all at once. Maybe it was a siren, only that it was much sharper then usual, and each aching breath he took scratch through his throat and leaved scars in his lung.

 

He sat there, and breathed. It took a while for him to understand what it meant.

 

His room was shrouded by the cold, pale sunlight at the break of dawn. Technically this was not his room, just another safe house for his current mission. But there was a wooden statue sitting at the far corner of the room, watching over him with sharp, golden eyes. It was meant to be a joke, but Everett kept it anyway.  

 

He sat there, holding the gaze of a wooden black panther, and wondered if he was just waking up from a bad dream.

 

He stretched his hand to fetch the kimoyo beads sitting on his nightstand. But before he could activate it, his phone started ringing. The electronical light blended itself into the pale room like a dead man’s skin. Everett suddenly felt sour in his mouth.

 

He picked up the phone.

 

“Ross,” a voice greeted him, “Come back to Washington immediately.”

 

“Wait, what,” Everett protested instantly, “I can’t - ”

 

“Those smugglers can wait,” a pause, “That is, if they are still alive.”

 

That ominous clenching at his heart refused to let go. He swallowed, and forced out, “What are you talking about?”

“They will brief you on the plane.”

 

 

####

 

Everett called his mother when he got off the plane. He could have done that during the flight. But he was stubbornly reluctant, like a child that broke a vase into piece and buried it in the garden so that he could pretend nothing had happened.

 

His father picked up the phone. He was sobbing, and barely coherent. Everett wanted to punch a hole in the wall if he could. But he only broke his knuckles. He nursed his left hand back to his chest and tried to comfort his father.

 

“We are gonna fix this, I swear, Dad, ” he looked up, and watched his commander approaching him. Everett looked right into her eyes, “I swear.”

 

####

 

His deputy lasted twenty-four more hours before he broke down.

 

Everett understood. He was actually kind of expecting it. There was so much work to do. Damage control, organizing the rescue teams, keeping the information flowing, finding the right replacements for necessary professionals like police and doctors. Almost all – or rather, half left of every government department were involved. Yet there was still so much to be done.

 

It still felt like nothing. Like despair. Like they can do nothing but accept that their love ones will not come back.

 

They were receiving a report from a kindergarten when his deputy started screaming, “It shouldn’t be them. It shouldn’t be them.” And Everett had to take him down and restrained him in the medical ward.

 

Twenty-four hours ago he had already felt that ache when his soulmate turned into ashes. Now he knew his daughter had, too.

 

Death was always a looming shadow in their line of profession. It was hard to forget when each time you went out for a mission you had to update your will. But it was more like some kind of trade, a willing sacrifice. To put their own life at risk so that they can make their country and their family safe.

 

_It shouldn’t be them._ But such was the mercy of a tyrant; he gave no mercy. Just a random snap, and all shall return to ashes. There was no logic, no bargains. Much like the universe itself.

 

But that ache clenching at Everett’s heart still refuse to let go.

 

“David, ” He nodded at one of his agent after returning from the medical ward, “ You take his place.”

 

####

 

 

Oddly enough, it was Okoye who invited him to the funeral.

 

Seventy-two hours had passed after the world’s (or the universe’s) population reduced in half. Everett barely slept, barely ate. He blacked out when he was taking a turn, and his commander had to restrain him in the medical ward.

 

If Everett was not too busy keeping his eyes open, he would have laughed.

 

He was lying on his bed, listening to the boring beeping sound in the room. He could not sleep, although he could barely open his eyes. That was when the kimoyo beads on his wrist started glowing. He almost forgot it was there.

 

He felt all of his organ gave a complicated combination of flipping. But not the good kind.

 

He let it glow for one more moment before activated it.

 

Okoye looked tired, bruised, aged. But there was steel in her eyes that made Everett wanted to cling on it, cling on her. Use her strength to hold himself together so that he would not ache with every breath he took. She didn’t not think highly of him anyway. What was the matter if he broke down in front of her?

 

T’Challa would have been smug.

 

When she opened her mouth, the general’s voice was tender, “We may not see eye to eye with each other, Agent. But I am not so cruel to add another burden to an aching soul.”

 

Everett felt warmth in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “How is Shuri?”

 

“Our princess is strong.” Okoye replied, Everett heard the proud in her voice, “She and the Hulk is in the laboratory.”

 

“…Oh?”

 

“Yes.” The general looked at him, her voice was soft and sad, but determined, “Have hope. Everett. We need that. He needs that.”

 

“Okay,” Everett replied, “Okay.”

 

 

####

 

Shuri insisted that they did not need a funeral, that this was not the end. But now she and Banner was just speculating, and people needed to mourn. She hugged Everett when he first arrived in the palace, but disappeared into her lab after that.

 

It was only to be expected. It was her way to deal with her grief.

 

What he did not expect, was the dancing. And singing. And drinking.

 

It was not only the funeral of the king. All tribes had their loses to mourn. Okoye led Everett to a boat, with a dozen boats surrounded it. They flowed down on the river, and people around him started singing and dancing. It was a surprisingly cheerful tune. Each tribes different but echoing each other. Everett thought of what T’Challa had said, and wonder if this was similar to the day of his coronation.

 

At one point, Okoye dragged him into dancing.

 

“Shuri is not here. The king and his mother was gone. You may be the closest thing that is the royal family. You need to dance.”

 

“What?” Everett stuttered, “But I’m not-we’re not-”

 

“Your souls are connected, even till now. You are very good at pretending, Agent, but you soul aches for him still.” Okoye gave him a solemn look, “I did not see it before. For that I apologize.”

 

So Everett joint the people of Wakanda in their mourning, in their dancing and singing and drinking. He was clumsy at first, feeling self-conscious. But Okoye was patient enough to show him the move, and others slowed down for him to join in. He danced, and at some point he started to feel light on the feet. His body was like feathers rustling in the wind. It was as if something was guiding him, caressing his face and shoulders and legs to echo with him. He leaped, turned and stomped his feet. For a moment he felt like a bird, a spirit trying to break free.

 

For a moment the terrible ache in his heart stopped. And something, someone, was returned to him.

 

He wept, at the end of the funeral, the ceremony, uncaring of other’s glances cast upon him. He wept and wept, in joy and in sorrow, while that ache in his heart slowly ebbed back to him.

####

 

He dreamed of T’Challa one month after the funeral. He woke up to the phantom kiss stinging on his lips. He looked at the far corner of his room, where the golden eyes of the wooden panther was watching over him.

 

“I miss you.” He confessed to the darkness, “Every day I thought it would get better. But every day ended with me missing you.”

 

The universe did not reply.

 

So Everett got dressed and went to work. It was five in the morning, but no one needed to know if he was three hours early. He smiled to his barista, smiled to the cleaning staffs in the building, smiled at his colleagues when people started to get in. He smiled, because everyone needed a bit of that these days.

 

He pretended that it did not ache. Maybe it was true. Maybe for now he can pretend that it will not make him ache whatsoever.

 

But it will. By God, it will.


End file.
